Analysis of Sensory Synchronicity
by skwirelygurli
Summary: Throughout his life, Kurt uses his five senses. Klaine.


**Analysis of Sensory Synchronicity, a Glee fiction**

**I do not own Glee. Review and leave requests!**

A moment. A brief period in time defined by the human response to the surrounding stimulus.

_I. The Past._

_"My darling girl, when are you going to realize that being normal is not necessarily a virtue? It rather denotes a lack of courage."-_ _Alice Hoffman_

Kurt shuffles into the kitchen in his favorite pair of pajamas, stopping in front of the refrigerator. From where he's standing he can smell the burnt toast on the table, the pat of butter melting into a pool of yellow. The door croaks as he opens it, smelling the half eaten cherry pie the neighbors had brought over. Next to it is a dish. He lifts the cover and takes a whiff of the leftover macaroni salad. He turns his nose in disgust and closes the container back up. He misses the moments his mom was around and the kitchen smelled of freshly baked sugar cookies and chamomile tea.

It's rare that Kurt gets to see his dad in a suit. He always wondered how he'd look all dressed up like in the wedding photo. He can almost see his reflection in his dress shoes. He scans the stones that surround them, trying to read the names. He hopes that she likes her new neighbors as her casket lowers into the ground. The sun shines down at her grave as he imagines her staying up late and telling stories to the skeletons that lie beside her. He can picture her smile. He only wishes that she didn't have to die to see his dad in a suit.

Kurt finds himself in the clutches of the school bully. His face is suddenly attached to his and he is forced to torment his own taste buds. He can taste the cafeteria meatloaf with an excessive amount of ketchup. He tastes a hint of grape slushie. He hopes that Karofsky doesn't backwash. He imagines his backwash dripping down his body. It doesn't matter because now Karofsky's spit is on him, and all he can taste now is the tin of breath mints he practically inhaled. Nothing gets rid of the taste of disgust.

He wraps his arms tight around his stuffed sock monkey. He whips the tail around. His mother reaches a hand over the crib and ruffles his hair playfully. She gently prods him down. He feels the pillow underneath his head, the blanket being pulled across his body. Her lips grace his cheek. He feels himself drifting off into sleep.

Kurt's ears perk up. The ice cream truck jingle encompasses him. He hears his dad's hand reaching into his pocket, the coins dancing around. His dad orders two vanilla cones. He calls after Kurt to be safe as he runs off with his ice cream. He hops onto the swings. They creak under his weight. A little boy with his own cone, his being chocolate takes a seat next to him. They rock and lick and Kurt hears a thud and suddenly chocolate boy is on the ground. He scolds the bully that stole his seat and helps the kid up. He sniffles at his now destroyed ice cream on the ground. Kurt sticks his cone out and offers to share. He introduces himself and learns that chocolate boy's name is Blaine. He doesn't see him after that, but the entire ride home he hears his heart going thumpity thump in his chest.

_II. The Present._

"_It doesn't matter where you go in life, what you do, or how much you have, It's who you have beside you." – Author Unknown_

The room reeks of dry erase markers. Mr. Shue scribbles ideas out on the board in the front of the room. It smells like sweat, being ninety degrees outside. Kurt leans his head on Blaine's shoulder. He's enamored with the aroma that hits him. It's shampoo and soap and deodorant and so clean and so his boyfriend. Mercedes speaks up from behind the two of them. Her breath smells like tots, and he's tempted to tell her. But Blaine's shoulder is way too comfortable, and it is way too hot. He pops a mint into his mouth and offers her one. It doesn't work too well, and now she smells like minty tots.

He enters the music room during his lunch. He wanted to practice his duet with Blaine and had arranged for Brad to accompany them. He realizes he's a bit early and sees Brad passionately hammering out notes on the piano. He looks to the empty chairs, filled with the invisible audience that he's playing for. Sheet music is stacked on top of a stool, most likely a suggestion for Regionals. Brad stands and bows to nobody, blushing beet red when he finds he has company. Kurt applauds, despite feeling like he's intruded on something. He sees Blaine enter the room, unaware of what just happened. He sees the question in Brad's eyes and makes a mental note to assure him later that his secret is safe with him.

He's ordered his coffee enough to know how he likes it. Each day he orders a medium drip coffee. When Blaine's lips touch his for the first time it's no surprise that he has the lingering taste of coffee left in his mouth. He's a bit shocked by the orange Tic Tac flavor left behind. He wonders if it had been a gift (he had seen Jeff with a pack of orange Tic Tacs this morning.) He asks himself if Blaine can sense the taste of his toothpaste, or if it's dulled down too much since this morning. Whatever he tastes like he hopes Blaine likes it. He apparently does, and when he goes back for seconds Kurt tastes victory.

Kurt swats at the tassel dangling from his hat as it tickles his face. He feels his hat start to slide and catches it. Who's bright idea was it to make a square hat anyway? Kurt has worn many hats in his lifetime and admired many more from afar, but this one was an aggravation. He feels the fingers wrapped around his tighten. He focuses his attention back to the camera. His cheeks feel like they are about to fall off from smiling for so long. But it's finally graduation, and Blaine promises to cause a commotion when they call out his name. Kurt feels embarrassed, yet so proud to call him his.

Having come from a family where Friday night dinners are important, Kurt's grown up on the notion that dinner is meant for conversation. So when Blaine insists that he comes over for dinner one Saturday evening he expects it to be the same. Instead, it's so silent you'd think it was the night before Christmas. The tinking of silverware on the plates collecting up the scraps of the chicken echo across the room. Mrs. Anderson takes a sip of her wine. Kurt can hear his heart in his throat as Blaine clears it away. He pats his thigh and hears him hesitantly address his parents. He hears him say they're leaving for New York and the breath that he lets out when his parents accept his decision. Dinner becomes very conversational after that.

_III. The Future. _

"_At the end of our time on earth, if we have lived fully, we will not be able to say: 'I was always happy.' Hopefully we will be able to say: ' I have experienced a lifetime of real moments, and many of them were happy moments.'" - __Barbara DeAngelis_

Kurt helps his daughter out of the tub. He reaches for the freshly laundered towels that still smell like detergent. He rubs her dry. He kisses her wet head, which smells like her no tangles shampoo. She peers up at him. The scent of shaving cream comes his way and he glances over to his husband at the sink. He gets off his knees and when the razor is a safe distance away from his face he kisses the top of his head too. He takes a good whiff of himself, finding that he smells like the two dozen cupcakes they made for preschool. He suggests they put her to bed early tonight and grabs another towel.

He's waited for this moment all his life. It finally comes and he's running around on three hours of sleep and two urns of coffee. He catches a hair out of place and reaches up to the models face to fix it. He sends her out onto the runway and double checks the next girl. Two spots down he sees a girl struggling with the zipper of her dress and has his assistant force it up. At the end of the show he comes out to do a final run with his models and catches Blaine's eye in the front row. His ridiculous pink sunglasses (which had inspired Kurt to give a pair to each of the models) sit perched on top of his head. Kurt grins and blows a kiss. He watches Blaine catch it and put it in his pocket.

Kurt kicks his feet in the air, lounging on the picnic cloth below him. Blaine lowers a strawberry to his mouth and Kurt nips at it like a kitten. It's sweet and ripe. It's even sweeter because his boyfriend is feeding it to him in the middle of a public park and nobody has screamed any homophobic slur in his direction. His stomach is full of turkey sandwich. He licks his bottom lip and tastes the remains of mustard. He stretches up to share a quick kiss. Blaine tastes like Diet Coke and Kurt takes delight in the fact that he got his boyfriend hooked.

The rain pours down on the city. Kurt tugs his coat closer, feeling a chill pass through. He looks up and a drop hits him in the eye. He blinks it away. The puppy at the end of his leash tugs him forward. He feels the leash rub against his palm. The wind pushes him back as he tries to keep up with him. He runs into Rachel and feels a hot sensation running down his leg. It's coffee and he feels his leg burning. She takes a hold on the leash and Kurt begins to mutter in pain.

Christmas music plays off the speakers. Kurt sinks into the couch next to his dad. His daughter is at his feet on the floor, chasing the dog. There's a knock at the door and Blaine gets it. He lets Finn into the apartment, helping him with the packages in his arms. He sets them down on the floor carefully. Finn's boots cease to squeak as he yanks them off and sets them down with a thud by the door. Kurt rises to give his brother a hug and the rest of the guests greet him. Over dinner Kurt gushes about the show he just finished and Finn asks him if he ever considered making mood underwear like those toy rings they used to have. Kurt hears Blaine's father trying not to choke on his turkey. His wife thumps him on the back and Kurt tries not to laugh. It's good to be back with the family.

A moment. An experience that can never be duplicated in the exact circumstances it originally occurred.


End file.
